Ebb and Flow
by SuperSpy
Summary: "It makes her feel more steady even though the ground beneath her turns. She worries, though. She's always been a worrier."   L/J.


**Ebb and Flow**

**Summary:** "It makes her feel more steady even though the ground beneath her turns. She worries, though. She's always been a worrier." L/J.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**A/N:** I'll admit right off the bat that I'm not entirely sure where this came from. I just kind of started writing, and this is what came out. I broke one major writing rule, and that's that there's no speech in this thing. I dunno, I like it anyways. Let me know what you think. :)

**Recommended Reading Music: **Pasting a certain section of the lyrics from this song wouldn't enhance the story (although the lyrics do fit well with the James and Lily Epic Love Story in general), however, it's what I listened to on repeat as I wrote this. And I think the general tone of the song fits well with the feeling I wanted the story to have. It's eerie and fabulous. Listen to it: **Ladder Song by Bright Eyes**.

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><p>She's amazed and frightened by the flood of chemicals to her brain. She knows – in theory – what she's experiencing, but she never expected it to be quite like this. It's a rush as she sucks in a breath, her heart beating a tiny bit faster. Her stomach drops, leaving her feeling a little bit light.<p>

It's silly, and she kind of wishes it would stop, but at the same time, she never wants it to end. This feeling, so new and raw and unexpected, has caught her.

He can't see her, even though they're both in the same corridor. She's surrounded by her friends, a riotous cacophony of sound cutting her off from his world. Like a silent movie she watches him as he approaches with his friends. They're laughing, shoving, teasing, talking. He's relaxed, some of the worry lines gone from his brow. He doesn't know she's noticed them.

And then he looks at her, hazel crashing into pools of green. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. His white teeth show, and she knows this is the perfect sort of moment. She smiles back, feeling the pink that warms her cheeks under is gaze. And then he's gone, passed her, like a leaf upon a rolling river he's swept away in the ebb and flow.

And she moves ahead, never glancing back, instead rejoining her friends. She laughs with them, chats with them, but deep within she holds onto that feeling that bubbles inside of her. It's intoxicating, enthralling.

She misses him. She finds it difficult to focus in class, her gaze constantly drifting toward him. She's rewarded with a smile, a wink. He's cheeky, but she likes it, the way he's so confident in her affections for him. Never questioning. It makes her feel more steady even though the ground beneath her turns. She worries, though. She's always been a worrier.

He finds it funny that she worries for him. Dismisses it, tells her everything will be fine. He's carefree and she's envious. But then she sees the looks, the furrowed brows, and she knows, he's sure for her. And knowing that he worries too, makes her worry less.

Their friends don't know.

That had been one of her terms. She wouldn't become something under a microscope for the school body to study en mass. It wasn't a secret, exactly. If someone asked, they agreed they could divulge the information as per their discretion. But they wouldn't broadcast it. She forbade it. It was the one time he actually listened to her. She appreciated it.

She enjoys knowing she has something that's hers alone. Him. Like a seed buried deep within the warm soil, protected from the element while it begins to take root and grow. She needs the time to adjust. To adjust to him. To her idea of him, versus who he really is. He surprises her, with his warmth, and his charm, but also his flaws. Though she finds that this is what intrigues her most – the things she didn't expect, but the things that make him human.

He's stubborn, as is she. It makes for interesting conversation. He's unapologetic when he believes he's right. He believes he's right most of the time - even when she proves him wrong.

He's eager, and although she never thought herself a prude, his advances often make her heart race, and not always from excitement. Sometimes, there's a bit of fear. Because she's uncertain, or maybe too certain. Or maybe not certain at all. She can't decide, and therefore she won't. Where he rushes blindly, she hesitates, but thankfully –_thankfully_ – he's willing to pause long enough for her to catch up. And that helps with the decision making. Though she doesn't tell him that.

There's a lot she doesn't know about him, but when she tries to ask questions, she finds she's always providing more answers than he is. It bothers her, but she tries not to dwell on it. Whenever they're apart, she plans her part of their conversations in her head, determined.

He doesn't avoid the questions on purpose, he just finds her more interesting than himself. She's fascinating, a strange myriad of beauty, strength and weakness. He finds no fault in her, which is perhaps a fault of his. He does not see the danger that lurks if he doesn't dance the dance she has choreographed in her head. But he does alright, given the circumstances.

He finds that he escapes his friends to be with her. They're beginning to notice, and he finds that although he looks forward to telling them how he finally managed to get her to go out with him; he also understands why she didn't want people to know in the beginning. She is his. He doesn't want to share her, enamoured with their secret meetings and secluded excursions through the castle.

He craves her touch, her taste, and he worries he might scare her off if he's too forward. So he bides his time, as patiently as possible. But he pours that need and want into every kiss and every nip at her neck. He takes great pride in the way she holds her breath as he works his way from her lips to her clavicle. The sigh that escapes her both thrills him and frustrates him – he never hears it often enough.

But he wants more than stolen kisses. He wants her all the time. He wants not only to be with her, but to walk beside her, to sit with her, to talk with her – not at their allotted time, but _all_ the time. He's willing to give up the seduction of secrets for the rewards of honesty and openness. He wants it all, the whole picture. The good and the bad.

And this is what frightens her, because she's worried the bad might be too bad. She pulls away. He thinks she's being obstinate on purpose. He's not entirely wrong, but he's wrong about her reasons for it.

They get into an argument – their first fight since their first kiss. It's different, more passionate and raw, closer to the surface now that there's more to lose. She's angry at him for push, push, pushing all the time. He's frustrated by her constant stone walling. Can't she just ride the wave and see where it carries them? _Go with the flow_.

She scoffs at him, storms out. But he follows this time. He won't let her leave, escape, avoid - even though it's early evening, and she's headed to the Great Hall. He runs the risk of making everything worse, but he's always been a risk-taker. She doesn't know what it really means to be pushed by him, but she's about to find out.

They're yelling, still, but she's conscious of the eyes that follow them, and it stalls her arguments, catches the words in her throat. Their friends and enemies sit back for the show, some bored and some amused. Some tired of the same old song and dance.

He's pulling at her, holding her hand, begging, pushing, urging. The listeners catch words, and they grow puzzled, feeling as though they've missed a step. She's embarrassed, her attention caught between a rock and a hard place. And then she makes a decision, for better or worse, she does what she _feels_ is best, and not what she necessarily _thinks_ is best.

So she kisses him, and it surprises him, but not enough to slow his response. There are hoots and hollers from their fellow classmates. Cat-calls and profanity, even. As she breaks away she smiles, feeling her pulse in her veins, feeling the chemical reactions inside of her heart and her brain, the ebb and the flow of it pulling her along – not toward or away, but _with_ him, carried by the current of her soul.


End file.
